


Your Old New Toy.

by NatashaStark



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Post CA:CW, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Tony Needs a Hug, hurt!Tony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 18:55:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7234552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NatashaStark/pseuds/NatashaStark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony writes a letter to Steve that will never be read by Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tony's First Letter

**Author's Note:**

> The next month Natasha stops by after a mission to ask Steve where Tony is. He stops and thinks, realizing he hasn't talked to him in two months. He doesn't even know if he lives in the tower anymore. He tells her as much, and runs out of the tower, catching up with the recovered Bucky and laughing at something he says, the conversation about Tony all but forgotten.

Steve,

Maybe a better way to explain us can be found in a child and his toys. You're the little boy, who loves his old toys because he's had them for so long. He cherishes the memories shared, the cracking of the plastic because he knows how it happened, the wear on them. They're familiar and appreciated. Then the little boy gets a new action figure, one that's made of shiny plastic and wrapped in even more plastic, and he plays with it all the time. He gives it nicknames and appreciates it. After some time though, the wonder wears off. The packaging has been thrown away and there's scuff marks on the toy. Slowly, the little boy forgets the nicknames, the games played, and eventually he forgets to play with the action figure all together, only doing so when the action figure is placed in front of him. But he never forgets the toys from his past, because they've been with him for so long. 

You will never forget your old friends, and I can respect that. But I know I am that new doll. It doesn't exactly take a genius to figure that out, but still it took an embarrassingly long amount of time for me to even acknowledge the truth. Maybe it's because I hoped with every fiber of my being that it wasn't true. So much for being a genius. I'm the one who's not that new anymore, I can feel your interest in me wither. And I resent it. I want you to like me, to feel the need to be around me, but I don't think my wishing will actually do anything. Don't you try and deny it, there is a difference between the way you respond to him and the way you fail to respond to me, between how often you clear your schedule for him and how you never do so for me. Not once this month, though I've asked you based on resilient hope, have you asked or agreed to spend time with me. Even before my revelation I could tell you weren't always so interested. 

You don't want me around, but you're just too polite to say so. I know that's true. And I'm not going to be that clingy friend who can't take the hint. I refuse to. I know that if I keep reaching out, I am giving you all the power between us. That whatever happens next, however I'm ignored or indirectly hurt by you, is because I let myself think that I had a chance to earn your respect, your friendship, your loyalty. 

Silly me. 

Can't I just learn that I'm the Merchant of Death? That no amount of shiny plastic wrapping can change how much blood is on my hands? That there is now way in hell that Captain America, embodiment of good and true heroism, could actually consider being friends with me? And still, at one point, I even hoped for more. By coming back to you with the same expectations, and getting the same reactions or lack thereof, our friendship or whatever it is, is losing it's mutuality fast. I can't, I won't, become powerless. So that means good bye, I guess.

I wish I had met you earlier, maybe I could have been one of your beloved toys. I would have loved that, I think.

Always Yours,  
Tony


	2. Hello. Never mind.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, it's not as if you'll ever read this- but I'm leaving.

Steve,

I begin my letter to you with shaking fingers and the ticking of the clock can be heard as I type. It's the old-fashioned one you brought down to the workshop when you used to visit me. I laugh because you would've found it amazing, the inaudible pressing of keys. I've grown used to this technology, since I made it myself, but seeing you in awe of such simple things as coffee machines and quiet keyboards always makes me feel important. Important and good, like I've done something good by making you happy. I hate that clock. 

This is my last night in the tower. Tomorrow will be the mark of two months without any communication from you. Bruce is off on another self-discovering journey, somewhere far away from here. Somewhere remote enough that I can't track him. Rhodey's location is currently 'classified,' and I don't have enough motivation to hack through the military's documents and endure their grumpiness. And Rhodey may have made me, scratch that- persuaded me not to hack into his systems again unless it was an emergency. I'm not sure this qualifies as an emergency, but the only person to check up on me during these past couple of months has been Nat. Yeah, I guess we're close enough now to use nicknames with each other, but it was really rocky in the beginning. But I guess you know how Nat can be. Ever since Pepper broke up with me, she's adamantly stated that we will always be friends. She hasn't come to see me since. All I have are emails and texts about SI as proof of our 'friendship.' It's weird how someone you couldn't imagine ever getting along with suddenly is the only person who cares enough to ask when you last ate, when the last time you had more than a thirty minute nap was. And how someone you love suddenly won't talk to you.

They'd rather show their best friend around the modern world.

Anyways, I want to let you know why I rarely call or text, because when you're thinking 'why the fuck is it so hard for him to just communicate,' I'm thinking the exact same thing. Well, you're probably thinking 'why the gosh darn is it so golly hard for him to grow up,' because you're noble or whatever, and I most certainly am not, but still the principle is the same. I honestly don't know if I'll be able to explain what goes on inside my head when I'm showing you my award-accepting smile, my look of ease as another part of me crumbles as you leave the room without noticing me. Again. But I've been made of ruins for a long time now, and I think it's time to at least try and rebuild, reboot and reload my system. Maybe this is the first step. I don't see myself getting any better than this.

I almost-text a lot. I'll take out my phone and type in 'hello,' and then delete it again. The occasional instances when I can convince myself that I won't be bothering you with a quick greeting, you take forever to respond. On more than one occasion, you only ask who it is. Which means you didn't bother to save my number from the last time. It makes me second guess myself again, and I quickly reply with my name and 'never mind.' I can look back and see that so many of my texts say exactly that. 'It's Tony Stark, and never mind.'

What I guess I'm trying to say is that I miss you. I miss your presence in my workshop, where so few are allowed. After my experience with Obie, I find it hard to trust people to have only good intentions. I miss how you would sit and draw, listening to me ramble on and on about things you didn't understand, and you'd do so with a smile. Sometimes, if I'm feeling especially gloomy, I imagine your smiles were ones of pride. Pride in me. And then I have to let go of that idea, because it scalds me. Why would you care about me, be proud of my inventions? It's not like our friendship is, and I'm suspecting was, all that mutual to begin with. My workshop was just probably the only quiet place you could find, the most secluded area of the tower. 

After trying to accept that you don't care, I still seem to find a way to hope. It hurts when I look at the couch in my workshop, because I only brought it in because you complained that all my chairs were rigid and uncomfortable. It's been pretty useful lately. When I don't want to chance running into anyone other than Nat, I simply camp out on the couch and work for as long as I want. It's great. Really.

So yeah, it's not as if you'll ever read this- but I'm leaving. Heading back to Malibu for a while, it might help. Or it might not. Who knows for sure really? Nat's been giving me her best judgy eyes these past couple days, in hope that it'll make me stay. After all, I am still Iron Man and the Avengers' main source of income. Don't worry, you'll still get upgrades and your money. If the battle gets too big and you're in need of assistance, you can still count on me. It should only take a couple hours to be in New York with the suit's modifications, results of staying in my workshop a lot lately. I know you, ever the tactician, and you can bet I'll be there to help. Always. Whenever, however you need me. 

Good bye, Steve Rogers. 

Still Yours,  
Tony


End file.
